


Creatures

by acyborglostintimeandspace



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Analysis, Demons, During Canon, Friends to Lovers, Heaven vs Hell, Howard is depressed, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Magical Realism, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Some Howard Moon/Original Male Character(s), Suicide Attempt, Vince is depressed, non-con under the influence of magic, not beta'd we die like bollo should have in season one, sex under the influence of alcohol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-22 20:48:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30044544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acyborglostintimeandspace/pseuds/acyborglostintimeandspace
Summary: When Howard leaves with Jurgen, Vince convinces himself that he doesn't care. A day later, lying in a hospital bed with a swollen head and pinched legs, he misses his best friend more than anything. Two weeks later, he's still recovering, both from his broken heart and his injuries, and isn't even happy when the old bastard returns home. He's so upset with him that he doesn't even notice how sickly Howard looks. Little does he know something far darker is brewing beneath them, waiting to explode and destroy their friendship forever. Because maybe neither of them want it to be just a friendship anymore. Maybe there's more to life than fashion and acting gigs and outsmarting monsters. In any case, it takes way too long for these two idiots to figure it out.𝘛𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦, 𝘏𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘔𝘰𝘰𝘯.𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯?
Relationships: Howard Moon/Vince Noir
Comments: 7
Kudos: 9





	1. The Passage - Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Finally! I started writing this fic 9 months ago and got so worried about the details that I got burnt-out from fic writing. But I'm turning 20 in three weeks and said fuck it and here we are. I am nowhere close to finishing writing this thing, but I figured posting it would give me the motivation to do so. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it and let me know what you think over on my tumblr, acyborglostintimeandspace! Huge shoutouts to The Weather in Dalston by Miriam_Heddy and Re-Wired by thisiswherethelightgetsin.

_ In the darkness of your room, when the clock strikes precisely 2:42 a.m., a shadow appears under your doorway. Or amongst the stars above. Or in the car seat next to you. Wherever you are, it will find you. It does not matter if you are asleep or if you are awake; it is there. It does not pace nor stray from its spot, simply anchors its feet as it watches you float between fear and curiosity. It watches you. It doesn't matter who you are, does not discriminate between old or young, tall or short, idiot or scholar. You are being watched. It does not stray. It never lets you forget it is there. You are being watched. Even if you are not aware. You are being watched. Everyone has one, and this one is made especially for you. _

_ Some call them shadow demons, some call them sleep paralysis, others call them friends.  _

_ You wonder to yourself,  Why is it here? Why does it watch me so, stock-still every single night? Why must it haunt me? Why does it know me? How  does it know me? Do I know it? _

_ Long answer: It's a demon from another realm. It will feed off your sadness until you are nothing but an empty, thoughtless shell. You will become oblivious to your own needs or those of your loved ones. You will be unable to comprehend the world around you. You will die. _

_ Short answer: It's a demon that feeds off sadness, and it  likes you. _

_ In its own mind, in its own way, the creature believes it is  saving you, saving humanity from its horrors. It was taught that humans are incapable of taking care of themselves. And it is right. You know it's right. You, like every other,  want to be saved. You would rather find a false sense of security and happiness than try to solve humanity's greatest flaws. _

_ So you are faced with a choice. Will you give it what it wants or will you face the worries plaguing your mind? _

_ Tell me, Howard Moon. _

_ I am standing outside your doorway. I am watching you, and you are watching me, yet you do not  see. _

_ Tell me, Howard. Please,  listen. _

Will you kiss him again?


	2. Colours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of "The Chokes" from Vince's perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eeey new chapter. CW for vince's internalized ableism. author does not agree with the character's views.

" _ Everyone tried to give the toy free clothes and strange magic beans that made his head spin round and round and his eyes seemed even bigger than usual. As the night wore on, Christmas toy was dancing on air. He seemed to have over a thousand friends now and offers of film scripts, photoshoots, voiceovers, free television sets. He couldn't believe it. Everyone was so kind and friendly and nice in Kentish town. _

' _ Who does he think he is?' _

_ The yo-yos charged the Christmas toys and pulverised his tiny frame. The Christmas toy was sprawled around the sticky pub with arms and legs everywhere _ .  _ Christmas toy, now just a torso, rolled back to the Enchanted Forest. _

_ He thought to himself that maybe being one of the biggest-selling toys of the year wasn't all it was cracked up to be." _

-Noel Fielding, "Christmas Toy: A story by Vince Noir" 

_ from The Mighty Book of Boosh _

* * *

**_Year: 2008_ **

**_Dalston_ **

_Bad things can happen to sunshine people, too._

The morning of the day Howard came back from Hollywood, Vince already knew that he would be alone for the rest of his life.

He woke up earlier than usual, watched the slow rise of the sun flutter over the buildings outside his window. Purples and pinks and oranges filled his vision, and if it had been two weeks previous, he would have smiled. But today was not a day for smiling. Today was a day Vince had been dreading more than he had dreaded taking tests back in school. The anticipation of a potential different outcome wasn't helping, no matter how hard it tried to battle the sadness burrowing deep inside of him. It was two weeks since Howard had left and he wasn't coming back.

Vince had promised himself that, when this day came, he would stop hoping.

Without Howard, Vince was nothing. Especially now. Howard had made him out of scraps.

When Howard first left for Hollywood, Vince hadn’t given it a second thought. He had been balancing on one foot and one hand, leaning against a table covered in various makeup items and four of his emergency mirrors (for every angle). He had been screaming at Bollo, a pair of drainpipes halfway up his footballer’s thighs. The only thing he could think about was what the future had in store for him - the fame, the money, the groupies, all the places he’d travel. Somewhere amongst all those feelings and hopes was the thought that he had never really travelled, had never left England, had barely left London. Black Lake or that cabin in the woods sure as hell didn’t count. Neither did that island somewhere between here and America.  _ That _ island. Vince definitely wasn’t thinking about  _ that _ right now. He was determined to never think about it again. Where he was going, such things didn't matter.

His heart had been pounding in anticipation all day, all through the different schemes he and Bollo devised to try to get the drainpipes on. He was so excited that when Howard burst in, the only thing that had surprised him was someone might think he was getting off with an ape. But it was just Howard. No one important. No one worth interrupting pursuing his dreams for. He had brushed him off, didn’t even let the words, “I’m just want to say I’m leaving. Jurgen’s offered me the part, so I won’t be coming back to the shop. Are you going to be okay on your own?” affect him.

_ “‘I won’t be coming back.’” _

Instead of mourning this moment, their last moment together, the last moment anything familiar would be within his grasp, Vince replied, “I’ll be fine. I’m not going back to the shop anyway. Once I get these drainpipes on, I'm going all the way with the Black Tubes.”

Howard's face sunk ever so slightly, but Vince didn't let himself notice.

"Okay, well," Howard shook his head slightly, and when he met eyes with Vince, his expression was cheery again. "I'll send you a postcard from Hollywood."

It had been so casual. So Vince played along. He didn’t want to stop Howard from being successful and happy. He had always wanted to be an actor, all the way back at the zoo, and now that he had the chance, Vince wasn’t going to stop him just because he selfishly needed him. He just wanted what was best for him.

Or at least that’s what he told himself later.

In reality, at that moment, he hadn’t really cared. Howard was finally going to be out of his life, finally going to stop being a barrier between him and being famous.

Besides, he was planning on leaving anyway, hadn't even stopped to say the words like Howard had for him. He just spent the whole day implying that he would be better off with the Black Tubes and didn't pause to assess Howard's reaction. Vince was sure he hadn't taken a real breath the whole day.

So he snapped back, "I'll send  _ you _ a postcard."

They met eyes one last time, and realization seemed to dawn on Howard. Suddenly, any sense of hesitation was gone. It was like Vince's words had been the final piece of Howard's emotional puzzle. He squinted and smiled in a way Vince had nearly forgotten he could. It was so honest, so genuinely happy and excited, and Vince realized he hadn't seen Howard smile like that in years.

"See you later, losers," Howard said proudly and shut the door behind him.

Vince kept smiling (best as he could with Bollo still struggling with the drainpipes) until he was sure Howard wouldn't be able to see him if he looked back.

Vince didn’t let himself dwell on anything. He had more important matters to attend to. It wasn't important that he would probably never see Howard again. He didn't need him.

They hadn't even properly said goodbye, he realized later, probably would have if Vince hadn’t been so eager to show Howard he was completely and totally fine with the situation. That his heart hadn’t sunk as soon as he heard cheering from the auditorium after Howard's performance.

Howard was bad at acting, that was just how it was. As different as they might be, they had one thing in common- they were both trying to pursue careers in fields that really didn’t suit them.

It was how they worked. It was how they were always going to be. Vince was genius with a sewing machine and could confidently convince anyone to take him home for the night. But when it came to being a frontman, he wasn’t the best singer in the world, not like Howard with his honey-silken vocal range and impressive musical knowledge. Howard wanted to act, had always been convinced that he was better than Vince. But Vince was, not surprisingly, very good at pretending he was happy when he wasn’t- and vice versa. Unlike Howard, he was a good little actor, always making things more dramatic than they needed to be, just to get attention or pity (see: getting his face copyrighted to stay one step ahead of Lance Dior).

Howard had the talent but had yet to find fame. Vince was famous but had no talent.

Howard couldn’t act, not properly, but he had musical talents. He could play guitar - and he was good. Vince was always both jealous of Howard’s abilities and in awe of his best- of his  _ flatmate _ being able to do one thing Vince couldn’t do better. He would never tell anyone how much he wanted to actually learn how to play an instrument or two, just so he could have something to show off at parties besides a new outfit like everyone expected. Howard might not look like much, but the few times he had joined Vince on nights out, he had always found a way to a musical instrument in one way or another. Despite using the excuse of the spirit of jazz, he was fine as long as he avoided trumpets, so playing guitar became his party trick. It wasn't Howard's fault that the people Vince hung around with couldn't appreciate good musicianship when they heard it, that being able to improvise a song with complex chords on the spot took far more skill than looping a dance beat.

Vince always had to pull Howard out of those parties before he got egged or shouted at for being a heathen. Or before people realized Vince was the one who brought him there.

That had been a long time ago. Vince couldn't even imagine asking Howard to accompany him these days. He supposed he wouldn't have to.

Howard leaving had left a hole in him that he didn't even notice until it was too late. He didn't notice it when Howard first told him the news, didn't notice it when his ex-best friend had frowned in disappointment and hesitated before closing the door of the dressing room behind him, didn't notice it when he finally got those blasted pants on, didn't notice it when he woke up in hospital with a swollen pin for a head, didn't notice when he was told he was out of the band and would never be famous.

It had taken a whole day in that hospital bed, sleeping on and off from the effects of the painkillers, before he asked Naboo why Howard hadn't come to visit him yet.

Bollo had been the one to remind him that Howard was long gone, wasn't even in the same country anymore, that they had already said goodbye. That Vince hadn't even cared.

The irony was, the hole had been there for a long time already, how long Vince didn't know. It was like the words "I'm leaving" had crawled into his stomach and his heart and peeled away at the already fraying paint of his emotional walls. But he was too selfish, too absorbed in some half-baked plan about becoming a famous frontman for a less-than-talented band to even stop and think about why his heart started accelerating when Howard said those words.

But lying in a hospital bed with not much else to do except think (he wasn't even allowed to watch TV because the doctor feared his eyes would burst out of his skull) meant his history with Howard was the only thing on his mind. And he realized, he didn't know how to go on without his best friend.

Because he had been in love with him for nearly twenty years.

The realization wasn't exactly a ground-breaking one. Vince had always known those feelings were there, even when they were eight years old and he had seen the lanky, mousy-haired boy chasing after a butterfly during lunch period, immediately ran up to him, and grabbed his hand. Howard's young, golden-brown eyes had stared into his blue ones curiously but with no trace of fear. Vince had broken out into one of his legendary grins and said, "Will you be my best friend?"

Vince imagined baby Howard had been too shocked to disagree. "Yeah, I haven't got much on anyway."

And that had been that.

Vince was released from hospital three days later with a relatively normal sized head. He thanked the universe that the nurses hadn't touched his hair. One top of everything, that might have been the last straw before he snapped.

When they got home, he immediately ran for his phone, hoping to see at least one missed call from the contact he had saved only as "<3" (he had been drunk one night and hadn't yet mustered up enough energy to change it back), but there was nothing. Of course there had been nothing. And there was nothing the next day and the day after that and the day after that and still nothing two weeks later. Vince had considered initiating a call, but he felt it would be too desperate. Even after all he had been through, he still cared about what others thought of him, of what Howard thought of him. No one  _ cool _ called first.

Except Howard. Howard always initiated things, like convincing Vince to leave school and join him at the zoo, asking if they might want to get a flat together after the zoo closed. Howard was good at taking care of Vince, even if Vince was the one who ended up saving him from the monsters most of the time. Their life was absolutely mad, and Vince was glad to have someone to share it with. Had.

Howard was good at initiating things that didn't involve touching. It was Vince who had initiated their first and only kiss after all. He always thought it might have to be, if some force magically granted Vince with a Howard who liked him back.

Sure, it had been under....less than ideal circumstances. But it didn't make the feeling of Howard's lips on his own any less earth-shattering. And then Howard had reacted like  _ that _ .

It had been too much for Vince’s brain to process, the possibility that Howard might share his feelings. Vince’s mouth had moved faster than his thoughts, rattling on some nonsense about Howard falling for people when they gave him the slightest bit of affection, something that Vince knew he didn't believe. If he had processed everything faster, maybe he would have recognized he wasn't around anyone he needed to impress, could be honest to Howard for  _ once _ . Old habits die hard.

By the time he realized Howard liked him back, Pencil Case Girl had shown up and suddenly everything was crashing and Howard was saying something about it being a one-time thing and Vince was insisting that they had kissed up there because if he didn't say it aloud, it might have never happened, and everything was too much  _ too much _ and Howard was chucking him and he had to pretend to be okay pretend to be okay, pretend to like this random girl from a one-night stand he had about a year back pretend to be okay pretend to be okay  _ bouncy bouncy ooh such a good time _ .

Vince had feelings for Howard, and he was too much of a coward to recognize it soon enough. 

He had been too late, and he was too late now. He sometimes wondered what would happen if he  _ did _ tell him. He had decided long ago that Howard didn't feel the same way, couldn't feel the same way. The aftermath of his kiss just confirmed it. If he was honest, Howard would never want to speak to him again. Howard wasn't speaking to him now, and he hadn't even mentioned his feelings.

Now he would never get the chance.

So it was time to stop pretending, to stop letting Howard seep into his thoughts at eight in the morning, and move on.

Back in the present, he got out of bed and put on his most boring outfit, the same one he had been wearing when Howard left: a simple white shirt, a black suit, and his flattest shoes. He had been banned from wearing platforms until his legs regained the proper circulation, but that was fine. He didn't much feel like wearing them anyway. He grabbed the cane he had been directed to use after he stopped needing a wheelchair and could put pressure on his legs again. He hadn't even taken up Bollo's offer to decorate it with stickers. He wouldn’t be caught dead parading around with it in public, so there’d be no point in glamming it up.

Somewhere, in the immature, garishly-colored recess of his brain, Vince was planning his comeback party. He’d really have to work to gain his reputation back; news of his head nearly exploding had travelled fast and Cheekbone hadn’t hesitated to write a whole article on “The Fall of Vince Noir.” But there were two voices screaming in his mind, opposites fighting each other with no clear end in sight. One told him he was capable of convincing everyone that his so-called “Fall” was just one of the many steps in some elaborate plan to make himself the most famous Rock n’ Roll star to ever cross the Earth. All of the best celebrities have a tragic side, something that gets the tabloids talking, gets the fans writing their made-up versions of outrageous lives. Vince lived for drama, especially when it involved his being the center of attention. So he’d use this to his advantage.

But he was so  _ tired _ . He was always tired. Tired of the partying and slicing up his emotional attention for every person he met, tired of feigned smiles and hangovers, tired of not being able to wake up before noon and forcing himself to stay up into the small hours of the night to make his over-sleepiness worth it, tired of all the projections and pretending.

He needed a break.

This, this _recovery_ was not one. He needed to be able to find himself again, without all the distractions- and he couldn’t do it alone.

But he was going to have to.

Taking a final look at himself in the floor-length mirror Howard had helped him set up when they first moved in, he nodded at himself in approval and walked out into the main room.

Naboo and Bollo were nowhere to be seen, but he could hear Adam rustling around in the shop downstairs, getting things ready for the day.

Adam had been an unpleasant surprise on Naboo’s part. He had apparently hired him while Vince was in hospital but didn't take the time to introduce the two when Vince came home. The resemblance between Adam and Howard was uncanny. Adam dressed the same as him, had the same facial hair, the same posture and lanky awkwardness, the same music and film taste, the same intuition and motivation to take care of the shop even if no one ever actually bought stuff from them.

But no matter how hard Vince tried, there was no spark. It wasn’t like he had been expecting one, but he thought he would at least give it a shot. He had even tried setting up a crimp, but the other man had just looked scared. It wasn’t like Vince and Adam didn’t get along. They did, in fact, very well. Adam was a good listener, just let Vince tell his stories, never asked questions or reprimanded him for being late, just kept out of Vince’s way and went about his business.

And that was just it. Vince had spent all this time thinking about Howard, about their arguments, but mostly about their banter. How easily it came to them. How comfortable and at home Vince felt when the other man was around. And it wasn’t just because Vince had romantic feelings for his best friend; he had never been religious, but the way he and Howard fit so perfectly together made him have faith that the universe really did have a plan. If he were a more intelligent man, he might even call Howard his soulmate.

It was this thought that was running through his head as he greeted Adam and went about his day. There was a stack of unopened magazines in the corner that served as evidence that Vince had actually started wanting to help with business. Now that he got up early enough, he actually helped take stock, amongst other things. He and Adam wove around each other like gears in clockwork, trying to complete their respective tasks as quickly as possible, under the illusion that someone might actually walk through the shop doors that day and find a rare spectacle they couldn't live without.

Evening rolled around, and Vince was helping Adam store the valuables for the night when Naboo and Bollo walked in.

"Ready to watch the concert?" the ape asked.

Vince's heart sank. He had forgotten all about the promise he had made Naboo swear to when he was still in hospital: they'd watch the Black Tube's television appearances and laugh together about how worse off they were now that Vince wasn't there to be their saving grace. At the time, he thought it'd make him feel better. Naboo had been hesitant, but Vince, in his drugged state, had whined and pleaded for him to agree. Of course Naboo's instincts were right; they always were.

So the three crowded around the television set. Vince set his cane down and settled into a seat behind the counter. He grabbed the remote, giving himself the ability to turn off the TV if it all became too much.

Hesitantly, he switched it on.

Sammy the Crab became the subject of attention as he paraded across the stage on screen. Vince waited for that familiar jealousy to bubble in his throat, but it didn’t come. Vince felt...numb. More than anything, his inability to care scared him. But he needed to convince everyone he was fine. Naboo and Bollo had already seen more of his vulnerable side than a non-painkiller-drugged him wanted them to see.

"Unbelievable. His legs aren't even that thin," he protested. He could almost feel Naboo's gaze over his shoulder, seeing right through his bleak attempt at actually caring about the thing on screen. Bollo just nodded in agreement, oblivious to Vince's urge to crawl back into bed. Anything except be reminded of his failures.

The shop door opened.

"Hey, guys."

Vince felt his heart leap up to his throat. It was like a whole lifetime had spanned between the moment he was looking at the television and the moment he laid eyes on the only person in the world that really mattered to him.

His first instinct was to jump up, despite his injury, pull Howard into the tightest hug two humans could give each other, and never, ever let go.

But his mind had other ideas.

Two weeks. Howard couldn't be back now. Two goddamn weeks. Vince still needed time to forget about him, to think through his future. Two goddamn bloody weeks. Howard had no right to barge back into Vince's life like he owned it.

The sight of the other man’s face pulled at something dark and twisted inside Vince’s heart. It was like an instinct to torment the other man, to make him feel lesser, to feel guilty about....

_ About what? _ Vince asked himself.

_ For not reciprocating your feelings _ , his heart provided.

_ For leaving you alone for two weeks _ , his brain screamed.

“What are you doing here?" his mouth said. "Thought you'd gone off to see  _ Ju _ rgen."

Vince immediately mentally reprimanded himself. Also, he realized, even without all his aches and pains, the nervousness in his voice made him sound like a fucking muppet.

"What can I say? Jurgen offered me a lot, money, fame, international acclaim," Howard rambled. "But I thought, do I need this? And I realized: I've got everything I need right here."

Vince looked at Naboo, eyes blown wide, as if asking him to stop whatever stupid shit his brain decided to do next. But either the shaman didn’t get the message, or his twisted sense of humor was allowing this to happen. Vince heard himself huff and tsk. He willed himself to keep his mouth shut, to just sit still and stay silent, but it was like another person had taken control of his body, like he was watching himself on a television set, begging to an unresponsive entity to stop being an utter and complete idiot.

"What would you do without me?" Howard continued on, patting Bollo on the shoulder. Helaughed and lightly punched the ape in an awkward attempt for familiarity. "I'm irreplaceable!"

Vince finally looked up from his knuckles, which had gone white from gripping the remote too hard. He caught eyes quickly with Bollo as he heard those last words escape from Howard's mouth. He felt the color drain from his face as he remembered his new co-worker finalizing his duties for the day in the other room. He shook his head slightly at the ape, keeping his eyes locked on him, his mouth drawn in a tight thin line.

Bollo, despite being old and wise, wasn't very good at picking up subtleties. Ever since the four of them had moved in together, Bollo had gone wayward from the mentor-like animal he was back at the Zoo (probably from all the weed Naboo was providing). More than anything, the ape had always been out to get Howard for some reason. It wasn't like he was malicious, like he really wished harm upon the man; it was just the way he saw the world. He reminded Vince of the bullies at school, the chavs that used to say rude things under their breath as they passed baby him and Howard in the halls. Those people had tempted him to let go of his friendship with Howard because Vince was somehow inherently better than him. It was the story of their lives. Just because Vince had been granted at birth with some kind of eternal youth and the physical ability to break gender boundaries, he was always treated as the star, the princess. And he liked it, loved it even, bathed in its shining light. But it meant Howard was treated like the ugly dog Vince kept around for entertainment. And Bollo's constant belittling and name-calling didn't help. Every time he complimented Vince, calling him a "precious flower" or "prince," Howard was being back-handedly insulted.

So it was no surprise that he called Adam's name, met Vince's eyes again, and smirked. As much as an ape can smirk. If Vince were a violent man, he would have lunged at the animal that had been his mentor only five years previous.

The man moped into the room. He walked with his hands behind his back, which Vince had always thought was a bit pretentious. "Yeah?"

"He came back. You're fired," Naboo said, not a hint of sympathy in his voice. Vince almost felt bad for Adam. Almost. Except Howard chose that exact moment to meet his gaze, acknowledging his presence for the first time since he had walked in. Despite being small, Howard's eyes were beautiful, all chocolate brown and flecks of gold. Vince's lips parted. Howard's playful smile faded into a frown. Vince was going to tell Howard he was sorry right this instant.

Suddenly, a familiar voice emanated from the television. Jurgen's voice. Vince snapped his gaze towards the screen, breaking any kind of reconciliation he and Howard might have had.

"Oh my day, what's this?" Vince hurried, pointing for extra flair. ‘ _ Oh my day?’  _ What was he, a Victorian dandy?

"Yeah, let's have the TV off, shall we?" Howard nearly shouted the words.

"Easy, hang on a sec!" Vince ignored the panic in Howard's voice. If this was what his best friend had left him for two whole weeks to work on, he sure as hell was going to watch it.

_ "Hi. I'm Jurgen Haabemaaster. When I'm making my avant garde films, I can often suffer from the pain of trapped wind." _

Vince blinked as realization dawned on him.  _ Sweet Brian Christ. _

_ "It can be very uncomfortable, like having an angry crab scuttle from side to side in my tummy space." _

Vince felt all color flush from his face, hell, from his  _ body _ as the previously monochrome scene went bright with pinks and reds. There, dressed as crab, running about in a set meant to look like the inside of someone's stomach, was none other than the man Vince had managed to fall head over heels for.

"Oh my sweet lord. Are you the new face of trapped wind?"

He hadn't meant to sound pleased. He had intended to sound...sympathetic actually.

But the truth was, Vince  _ was _ pleased. More than pleased, giddy even. Howard T.J. Moon had failed to pursue his lifelong dream of being a serious actor, and Vincent Noir was happy about it. Howard had failed. He kept repeating it over and over in his head,  _ Howard failed Howard failed Howard failed Howard isn't talented Howard is back and he's never going to have an excuse to leave me again. _

_ We're back to being equals. _

"Nice work, Howard," he offered, trying to lighten the mood. People always said the things that hurt now could be laughed at later. But maybe if he joked about this now, he could skip over the pain.

Howard didn't respond. He just kept frowning deeper and deeper, like he was retreating back into himself. The bubbly personality, no matter how fake, from when he had first walked in was completely gone.

Vince had been so shocked by the commercial that he didn’t realize until later how....tired Howard looked. Almost...ghost-like. Like any comment about the ad might just be enough to make him break. Vince might have not been the smartest person in the world, but he did know about clothes. That coat most definitely didn't belong to Howard. It was the right colors and the right style, but it fit all wrong. And besides, Vince had never seen this particular coat before, and Howard only owned three. Maybe he had bought it in Hollywood. Still, that didn't explain the thing that concerned Vince the most- Howard didn't have any luggage. His best friend was far from fashionable, but he had enough sense not to wear his Zorro outfit for two weeks straight. He must have come back to the flat after leaving the theatre and packed some things for the trip. Or at least changed into his tweed utility suit. But then he would be wearing it now. What had  _ happened _ in California?

"Hey, you're famous now! " Vince put his hand on the green-lit counter and tried his best to soften his expression. "We can be proper celebrities now instead of just 'Vince Noir and his mate.'" He smiled cheekily.

Howard turned towards the stairs. He was trying to escape.

"Oh, come on, Howard. I was only joking." Howard met his eyes. "It ain't that bad."

The other man looked down. "I suppose."

"Yeah, not too bad," Bollo chimed in. Naboo's mouth was still hanging open in shock, a smile creeping at the corners of his lips.

Howard looked up again at that. "Really? You mean it?"

"'Course he means it! One small thing ain't gonna ruin your whole career."

And to Vince's surprise, Howard smiled. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Vince smiled back. "At least the crab suit compliments your eyes."

"That’s it. I'm going upstairs."

"Howard, I didn't-"

"Don't talk to me."

Vince shot up to go after his friend, momentarily forgetting his injury. Bollo had to leap across the counter to catch him as his legs gave way, and he began to hurl towards the floor. By the time he caught his breath, Howard had slammed the door to their room shut loud enough to be heard downstairs.

Vince dreaded having to tell him later that they had already moved out all his things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jeez, vince really is a dramatic bitch. calm down, my dude.
> 
> tell me what you think over on my tumblr, acyborglostintimeandspace! as always, shoutout to the booshlrs for being my support crew for all barratt-fielding related content.


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